Arlene James - Called to Love

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Cover

Title Page Called to Love Arlene James www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

Endpages

“I can’t believe it,” Cissy whispered, her pale green eyes wide as she lowered the letter she’d been reading.

Jeb Miller, the thirty-year-old pastor of Grasslands Christian Church—and her boss—laughed. His eyes danced behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses, his bright hair almost as shocking a shade of carrot-red as Cissy’s own.

“Believe it. They’ve offered you the position of director at the orphanage. I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” Jeb said. “I’ve sensed they were serious about you as a candidate for some time now.”

Cissy had been spending the majority of her summers at the orphanage since she’d first visited there on a mission trip when she’d been a freshman in college. She’d instantly known her calling was to work there. Now, at only twenty-six, she was being offered the job of director at the small orphanage and school just across the Texas border in Mexico. It was a dream come true, an answered prayer. And a problem.

“My mother is going to hit the roof.”

Sally Locke, a widow, would not meekly accept Cissy’s move to Mexico. Sally didn’t understand why her only child was not content to marry and have babies. She didn’t understand why anyone would want to move away from Grasslands, which was, admittedly, a perfectly nice little town about an hour southeast of Amarillo, Texas.

“She’ll come around,” Jeb assured Cissy. “They don’t expect you until June 1, so that gives us a month to prepare. Meanwhile, I’ll petition the church for financial help.”

The salary offered by the orphanage was a pittance, but then Cissy had known that securing extra funding would be a big part of her duties as director. She gulped, wondering if she was up to the job.

Sensing her anxiety, Jeb suggested they pray on it, and bowed his head.

Cissy gratefully let him lead her in prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, though, she heard the scuffing of boots on the floor outside the church office, alerting them to a visitor.

Looking up, Cissy saw a tall, handsome cowboy standing just outside the room, a battered hat—almost as black as his thick hair—in hand. His warm brown eyes slid right past Jeb to alight briefly on Cissy. She suddenly wished she’d confined her riotous curls in a bun. Thankfully, that dark gaze swung back to Jeb as he moved forward with an outstretched hand.

“You must be Gilbert Valenzuela, the handyman.”

“Yes, sir.” The two shook hands as the cowboy said, “Call me Gil.”

“Jeb Miller. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gil. You’ve come highly recommended by a number of our members. To hear them tell it, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Valenzuela ducked his head. “More like I know how to do a lot of little stuff.”

“A jack-of-all-trades,” Jeb surmised, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “That’s what we need around here.” He made the belated introduction. “This is the church secretary, Cecelia Locke.”

“Cissy,” she corrected quietly.

“Perhaps I should say this is the former church secretary,” Jeb went on. “She hasn’t turned in her formal resignation yet, but she’s just been offered a job as the director of Angeles del Orfelinato de Dios .”

“The Angels of God Orphanage,” Valenzuela said, translating.

Cissy smiled. Maybe among his other duties Gil Valenzuela would be willing to help her practice her Spanish. A little thrill of excitement shot through her at the thought, but she instantly squelched it.

The very last thing she needed now was to get involved in any way with a man, especially one this attractive.

God had just shown her where her future lay, and she would be true to her calling, no matter what.

Gil hung his elbows on the top plank of the sagging corral fence. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I can train that filly, and I can straighten up this old fence, too, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“They keeping you busy out at the Colby Ranch?” Sally Locke asked idly, shading her hazel eyes against the afternoon sun.

Gil smiled. “Let’s just say I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“Well, I hear you’re the best hand Belle Colby has, so we’ll work out something.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Gil said, turning his head as a little car puttered up to the end of the drive. Sally, too, looked in that direction and lifted a hand in greeting as the driver parked the coupe next to another battered compact. Gil blinked as the church secretary got out and started toward them.

“Good timing,” Sally called to the pretty redhead. “You need to meet this fellow. He’s going to be doing some work around here.” She glanced at Gil, saying, “My daughter, Cissy.”

“We’ve met,” Cissy said, as Gil faced her, doffing his hat. He couldn’t help a burst of pleasure at seeing her again.

“Miss Cecelia,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

Glancing at her mother, Cissy returned his smile with a frown. “Yes, it is.”

She quickly stepped back, preparing to leave—he couldn’t let her. Straightening, he blurted out, “Guess you’re excited about the job in Mexico.”

He knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. Cissy blanched, and Sally made a strangled sound, her freckled face suffused with bright, angry color that made the gray streaks in her reddish-brown hair stand out like tendrils of steam.

“Job?” she choked out. “In Mexico!”

Sighing, Cissy calmly said, “I was going to tell you tonight.”

Gil stumbled over an apology mixed with explanation. “I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I was at the church earlier, you see, and overheard the pastor talking with your daughter.”

“And when was this?” Sally demanded.

Cissy answered for him, “Tuesday.”

“Two days ago,” Sally pointed out bitterly.

Gil began his apology anew. “I’m sorry for—”

Sally spun abruptly toward the house. “I should see to dinner.” She stopped and turned back. “Perhaps you’ll join us, Mr. Valenzuela?”

Surprised, Gil stammered, “I—I wouldn’t want to impose.”

She headed toward the house again, barking, “Take care of it, Cissy.”